


Three Months

by owlish (slowshows)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alpha Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Mpreg, Omega John, Omegaverse, Surrogacy, Weight Gain, graphic birth, multiple pregnancy, rapid pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-04-23 21:20:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19159195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slowshows/pseuds/owlish
Summary: John is chosen to participate in a volunteer, government-run breeding program. Thanks to advances in modern science, he carries an enormous litter to term over the course of three short months.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Breaking the rules of an average pregnancy for kink’s sake. Hold onto your hats.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John receives a letter.

John’s shoes clicked against the damp sidewalk as he walked the last few blocks home from work. A breeze cut through the the heavy air, and a soft, warning rumble followed on the heels of the wind. John inhaled deeply, and hooked his thumbs in his pockets as a stronger gust ruffled his hair. He enjoyed the slight edge of adrenaline that came from being outdoors when a storm was brewing, and deliberately slowed his pace, lingering in the sensation of growing danger even as the warm lights of 221b came into view. 

The Omega smiled a little as he caught sight of the silhouette of his flatmate, violin in hand, at the window. A different kind of danger awaited him there. 

A sudden flash and a loud clap of thunder, and the sky opened up, sending the doctor sprinting for home. 

— 

John stumbled into the foyer to the soft strains of a sonata, and quickly shut the door behind him. He leaned back against the wood for a moment, feeling it vibrate with the threatening growl of thunder as he caught his breath, a grin playing on his lips as gooseflesh prickled across his skin. Gathering himself, he grabbed the mail off the sideboard before heading up the stairs to 221b. 

The music stopped when he opened the door. Sherlock still stood at the window, wearing only his blue silk dressing gown. In protest against the humidity, the upper half of the Alpha’s robe hung open loosely, revealing the pale expanse of his torso. John swallowed, feeling gooseflesh creep pleasantly across his skin for an entirely different reason. His friend’s keen gaze fell on him, and John quickly turned away, heading for the kitchen. 

“You waited too long again. You always push it,” Sherlock said.

“Yeah, well, A little rain never hurt anyone,” John argued, setting the mail on the counter and divesting himself of his damp coat. He hung it in the hall before returning to sort the letters. “You’ve got a few thank you notes here,” he said, setting aside a few hand-addressed envelopes, “Or wedding invitations. It’s beginning to be that season.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, setting his violin on his shoulder again and turning towards the window.

“Bills, adverts,” John as he sorted them into their own piles for himself and for Sherlock. “Huh,” he said, frowning as he reached the last item in the pile: a large, thick white envelope, addressed to John H. Watson. He turned it over, and his heart stopped when he saw the seal printed on the back. 

John lifted the letter opener with a steady hand, neatly slicing open the envelope and pulling out the contents. Atop a collection of forms, leaflets, and informational brochures was an official letter, printed on letterhead with the same seal as the envelope. John’s heart had restarted, and now beat harder with each paragraph he read. “Oh God,” he said, sitting down hard in the kitchen chair. 

“Did I forget another bill? What’s the damage this time?” Sherlock asked, his bow paused above the violin’s strings as he looked back at John. The doctor was both pale and extremely flushed, his rosy cheeks standing out violently against his white skin as his eyes skimmed the letter.

“That bad?” Sherlock asked, setting down his instrument and moving towards John. “Don’t worry, I-“

“My number’s come up,” John said abruptly, thrusting the letter toward Sherlock. 

“Your... number?” Sherlock asked with a creeping sense of unease, drawing his robe tighter around him before taking the paper. He skimmed the letter, his eyes growing wider as he read. “You didn’t.”

“I did,” John sighed, rubbing a hand over his stubbled chin. Already, the shock was wearing off, replaced with dutiful resignation.

“I knew you were ‘Queen and Country,’ but not quite like this,” Sherlock said, looking at John in astonishment. The Omega shrugged, pulling the rest of the envelope’s contents in front of him and beginning to leaf through them: adoption forms, pregnancy pamphlets, a strict and predetermined schedule of doctor’s appointments. 

“Didn’t seem a bad thing to volunteer for at the time,” John said, “Keeping the population up, making childless Beta couples happy and all that. Didn’t know if I’d ever come up in the lotto anyway, but I figured it wouldn’t be too bad if I did. They don’t even use your own eggs, so there’s nothing to lose, and the whole thing can be over within three months with the new treatments they’ve developed. Not to mention you get the entire time off with all your expenses paid, and an enormous cheque for your troubles.” He thumbed past the benefits list. “Once I hit thirty, I figured they’d thrown my number out. But I guess even older Omegas will do if you’ve still got carrying capacity — and according to my physical last month, I’ve still got it.”

Sherlock’s heart clenched uncomfortably in his chest. “You don’t have to go through with it. You can revoke consent-“ 

“I’ve made my commitment, Sherlock,” John said firmly, squaring his shoulders and meeting the Alpha’s eyes. He gathered up his things from the table, and took the letter from Sherlock’s hand. “I’m going through with it. It’s three months out of my life, and besides, it’s not like I’m busy having kids of my own.” 

Sherlock blinked several times in rapid succession. By the time the detective’s lips parted with a reply, the upstairs bedroom door was slamming shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, John and Sherlock are not together (yet). Yes, John’s participation in this program is entirely consensual.
> 
> Comments and kudos are appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

John’s breeding appointment was scheduled for two weeks past the date he received his selection notice, but preparatory supplies began arriving the very next day. The Omega woke to the chime of the doorbell, and was made to sign for a stack of boxes nearly as tall as he was. Bleary-eyed and half-dressed, he allowed himself a cup of coffee before delving into the delivery. 

Five packages later the bin was stuffed with packing material and the kitchen table was full to capacity with bottles, jars, and small boxes. There were numerous prescription hormone supplements and a litany of fertility drugs to make his body receptive to carrying as many children as possible. The bulk of the shipment, however, belonged to weight gain shakes and snacks, intended to begin preparing his body to sustain a massive litter. A letter detailing his new prescription and dietary regime was enclosed, taped to a pill caddy the size of a tackle box. 

John filled the pill caddy as instructed, methodically preparing each tray with pills of all shapes, sizes, and colors. When he was finished, each compartment looked as if it contained a handful of sweets. John poured the contents of that morning’s compartment into his hand and let out a breath. Up until he was bred, he had every right to turn back — but nevertheless, taking the pills felt final. The drugs would change his body chemistry quickly: in a matter of days, he would feel and smell different. Soon enough, he would look different too. Pregnancy would transform his body beyond recognition - and in ways he’d only dreamed of. He wouldn’t be a mother, not really, but he’d get close. Perhaps it would feel like enough, he thought as he tipped the first doses into his mouth. 

-

When Sherlock finally emerged from his room later that day, neither of them mentioned John’s comment about having children of his own, or how the subsequent door slam had rattled the downstairs windows. Sherlock pretended not to notice how crowded the kitchen table had suddenly become, or the unusual drink in John’s hand as the Omega relaxed in his chair with a book - but as John stirred from an afternoon nap, he could have sworn he saw Sherlock in the kitchen, furtively examining a pill bottle. 

-

In the countdown to John’s breeding appointment, every morning brought something new: a box of clothes in increasing sizes, made to fit him in his first trimester (he tried not to be alarmed at how big the latter sizes were); a larger bed frame and mattress to replace his single bed; a set of breast pumps. John blushed when he received an enormous package of sex toys designed to satisfy a partnerless, pregnant Omega, quickly shutting the box and rushing it upstairs to his bedroom before Sherlock could catch a glimpse of the contents. 

At first, Sherlock had insisted that he lacked any interest in John’s undertaking. He reminded both himself and John that John was not his Omega, and therefore how he used his womb was none of Sherlock’s business. However, the relentless parade of packages and the constant activity as John rearranged his life proved difficult to ignore, and much to the Alpha’s chagrin, Sherlock found himself curious about all the fuss. He ruined several experiments while eavesdropping on John’s phone calls before — out of both pity and an interest in preserving their home — John began offering him all the details in unsolicited conversations. Secretly, Sherlock was relieved at having some of John’s attention again, but he couldn’t shake the growing sense of unease he’d felt since the day John received his letter. 

-

The small, subtle changes in John’s body each day snowballed rapidly. In just a week’s time, the Omega had gone from being able to comfortably buttoning his shirts and trousers, to nearly bursting out of them, to quitting his old wardrobe completely and donning the smaller sizes of the garments he’d received for his first trimester. His chest felt tender, and steadily began to swell into small, pert breasts, noticeable even with his general increase in size. His scent shifted too - it was sweeter, Sherlock said when John asked, though not the tempting sweetness of an ovulating Omega. John’s body was showing all the signs and symptoms of fertility without being truly fertile: the drugs made him susceptible to carrying the eggs of others, while holding his own eggs safely back. 

Though John wouldn’t be able to go into heat until he was artificially induced at his appointment, the hormones pumping through his system held him in a constant state of readiness. His appetite increased, as did the speed of his weight gain. He wore loose clothing to hide the fact that he was always half-hard. Maddeningly, however, he found himself uninterested in and unable to release as his body stored energy in anticipation of a proper heat. 

By the day his breeding appointment arrived, John was two stone heavier, and the most sexually frustrated he’d been in his entire life.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay! I never intended to have such a long gap in publishing, but the weeks have really flown by. Thanks for your patience, and please enjoy this new chapter.

The night before John was bred, Sherlock couldn’t sleep. The Alpha had the distinct feeling that something was wrong. Seeing the changes in John’s body made his chest feel oddly tight, and his heart ached from the constant pressure. Once the Omega was safely asleep, Sherlock sat down at the sitting room table, opened up John’s laptop, and punched in the password. 

John had left his browser open and logged into his patient portal. Due to the program’s rapid and intense impact on his body, the Omega was required to track a great deal information about himself each day; his weight, measurements, eating habits, moods, and any other changes to his physiology were regularly reviewed by his assigned doctor. Sherlock scrolled through the logs, huffing an exasperated breath when he found nothing concerning about the data. If anything, John was performing above average. Results from John’s lab tests earlier that week indicated that he should expect a large litter.

Sherlock slammed the lid of the laptop down, steepled his fingers, and closed his eyes. There were no allegations of abuse by the program; Mycroft had assured him as much. In fact, many Omegas enjoyed the experience so much that they requested to continue being bred after their first litter. At the thought of John being bred a second time, Sherlock’s chest constricted further. The detective grimaced. He could not give weight to such irrational feelings. He stood and grabbed for his violin, determined to turn his mind to more productive pursuits.

— 

John slept fitfully. He was prone to rolling over in bed, and every slight brush of his engorged cock against the sheets jarred the Omega awake with a frustrated moan. His passage throbbed with distracting pleasure and dampened the sheets with slick. Early in the morning, after waking from another brief nap to find the fabric beneath his hips uncomfortably sticky, John decided he’d had enough. He tossed on a shirt and sweatpants, and headed downstairs. 

John wasn’t surprised to find Sherlock awake, and gave his friend a nod as he turned into the kitchen. If he couldn’t sleep, he thought, he could at least make himself useful by eating: he’d been instructed to come to his breeding appointment full to bursting. Conveniently, he had received a package full of groceries to help him with the task. John set to work, using all four stove burners to make a massive breakfast of eggs, bacon, tomatoes, sausages, ham, beans, and potatoes. He sipped on a weight gain shake as he cooked, and nibbled on anything he could easily get his hands on: toast, cheese and fruit, even biscuits. When everything was ready, John prepared a second shake, heaped three plates full with his fry-up, and tucked in. 

When he’d finished the first plate, John could feel his middle beginning to stretch the elastic waist of his pajama bottoms. As he began the second, the tension became more pronounced with each bite. By the time he’d finished the third, the band had been pushed low by the newly round curve of his belly, which pressed firmly against the fabric of his formerly loose t-shirt. John gave a strained burp, pressing both hands to the tight mound of his middle. He downed his daily pills before hefting himself up from the table with a grunt and sluggishly waddling towards the bathroom for a shower. 

Sherlock watched him go out of the corner of his eye, the melody he was playing on the violin taking on an edge of fascination and alarming arousal. 

— 

“I’m leaving,” John announced a few hours later, “I’ll be back by one.” He zipped up the front of his track suit, needing an extra bit of effort to get the pull around the furthest curve of his belly. The jacket pulled tightly at the edges, making him look larger.

Sherlock found that his reply caught in his throat, so he nodded his acknowledgement instead. As the front door shut, the Alpha stepped over to stand at the window. He kept his eyes on John as he climbed into the cab, his heart sinking as the car pulled away from the curb. 

—

Once he arrived at the hospital, John made his way to the breeding unit. He checked in at the front desk, and pushed through a set of double doors into the waiting room.

His first checkup had been the last appointment of the day, and consequently all of the room’s large, vinyl padded chairs had been empty. Now, there was scarcely a seat to be found. John looked around the room in wonder, observing Omegas in all stages of the program. There were some like himself, their stomachs large but lacking the distinctive firm fullness of pregnancy. There were Omegas in their first trimester, their bodies soft and their middles round, already swollen enough to look well on their way to full-term with a single child. Those in their second trimester were heavyset, their limbs thick, their bellies elongated and bulging over their laps. The Omegas in their third trimester were massive, nearly spilling out of the waiting room’s overlarge chairs, their teeming wombs seeming to dwarf the rest of their generous bodies in size. Two nurses were helping a woman into a wheelchair; the Omega was panting and moaning through a contraction, her expression both pained and blissful. It was no wonder the government never made the breeding draft mandatory, John thought to himself, when there was such an abundance of volunteers to keep the population up. 

No sooner had John lowered himself into an open chair than a nurse called, “John Watson?” John’s breath caught, his heart skipping a beat as the reality of his situation fully caught up with him for the first time in days. Pregnancy was no longer something in the future: it was about to happen to him now. In an hour, he’d be bred — and in three months, he’d be in the same position as the laboring Omega now being wheeled from the room, her moans rising to a shrill peak as her waters burst from between her legs and splashed onto the tiled floor. 

John’s name was called again. He stood obediently, minding the trail of amniotic fluid on the floor as he made his way to the nurse. He squared his soft shoulders as he approached. 

“John?” the nurse confirmed, and John nodded. The man smiled kindly. “This way, please,” he said, ushering John through the set of doors that led to the ward.

The hallways of the breeding unit were a cacophony of sound. Choruses of screams and moans — ecstatic and agonized, breathy and deep, airy and strained — echoed through the space, punctuated by the reedy wails of newborns. Enormous, laboring Omegas lumbered up and down the corridors, occasionally stopping to spread their legs and groan. The sight raised the hair on the back of John’s neck, and send blood rushing straight to his groin. He swallowed thickly, nearly forgetting himself until the nurse spoke again. 

“You’re in Breeding Room C,” the nurse said, opening a door to a brightly lit room with white walls and a white tile floor. In the middle of the space was a hospital bed with padded stirrups. A breeding machine waited at the foot of the bed, its piston outfitted with a large artificial Alpha cock and pump. Despite the sterility if it all, there was a heady, intoxicating scent in the room: Alpha pheromones, John realized slowly as he felt a bead of slick trickle from between his thighs. 

John was left alone to undress. He stripped and neatly folded his clothes, setting his belongings on a chair in the corner of the room. As he straightened up, John shivered, but not from the cold. The room was pleasantly warm, growing warmer, even, and the lights were slowly becoming dim. The Alpha pheromones had become stronger, making his cock stand fully to attention. John licked his lips. He was ready. Ignoring the optional a hospital gown, he climbed up into the bed, setting his feet inside the stirrups as his doctor knocked and entered. 

“All set to go, John?” Dr. Clarke asked with a smile. The Beta wore blue scrubs, and her blonde hair was tucked away in a surgical cap. Her nurse followed her into the room and set about preparing an IV. 

“As you remember, we’ll start your heat, then let you work yourself up a bit before we get you going on the machine,” the doctor explained. “You should take about three knots before your heat subsides, but we’ll let you go as long as you need. The induced heat will be much quicker and more intense than what you’re used to, so it’s good you’ve come in full - you’ll be using a lot of energy in a very short amount of time. Once you’re sated, you’ll be able to clean up and go home.” John winced a little as the nurse carefully inserted a needle into his arm. 

The doctor adjusted the bed, tilting John’s hips up a little and pressing the stirrups back, opening him and bracing his back against the mattress. “Comfortable?” she asked. 

John nodded slowly, the question seeming to come from lightyears away, the meaning gently washing over him like rays from a distant sun. The heat hormones were already suffusing through him, weighing down his limbs, making him heavy and warm, so unbearably warm. John trembled violently, beginning to pant in gasps and groans as he broke out in a full-body sweat. His cock, already firm, engorged to the point of pain, swelling until it felt too big for his own skin. It pulsed along with the muscles deep inside his passage, a full, synchronous throbbing that brought forth clear, sticky liquid from both until his cock was glistening and the sheets beneath him were soaked. The symptoms of heat that usually built slowly over the course of a day descended on him at full strength within minutes, leaving John grasping weakly at the guardrails of the bed as his body careened out of control. 

As the hormones reached critical mass, the feeling of heaviness transformed suddenly, collapsing into desperate need that exploded through him like a supernova. John arched off the bed with the force of it and let out an animal moan, his pupils dilating until his irises were thin rings of blue around depthless pools of black. 

“Good. He’s ready,” the doctor said, moving the breeding machine into position. The nurse gently grasped John’s hips, relaxing them down onto the bed. “Hold him steady just there,” the doctor urged as John attempted to writhe, unaware of anything but the unbearable emptiness and desire that burned through him. The doctor carefully lined up the dildo with John’s swollen, dripping entrance, guiding the plump tip safely past the first ring of muscle before turning on the machine. 

Blissful relief flooded John as the cock breached him fully. He cried out, his eyes rolling back, fingers curling around the guardrails like a lifeline. His body worked of its own accord, his hips meeting each thrust of machine, taking in the cock as deep as he could; despite its size, the dildo slid easily through his tight passage. John grunted and groaned, his eager noises rising in volume as the pace of the thrusts quickly increased. 

Within a minute, he could feel the beginnings of a knot catching on his entrance. John clenched, needy and encouraging. Two more thrusts brought the knot in proper; the cock thrust hard into him, its base swelling to nearly agonizing fullness as it sealed his passage tight and began to breed him. A scream tore from John’s throat as he orgasmed instantly, useless seed exploding from him as weeks’ worth of sexual frustration released all at once. His vision went black as he fell back onto the bed, moaning and writhing on the knot, senseless to all but the pleasure that seemed to consume every atom of him.

—

John floated slowly back to consciousness. He could hear voices - at first too faint to make out, then just audible enough to catch bits of words and phrases. His brow furrowed as he heard something about football, his eyes opening reluctantly as his curiosity was roused. 

A soft hiss escaped him as he blinked against bright, white light; the breeding suite was fully illuminated once again. A blanket had been draped over his prone form, and Dr. Clarke and nurse were chatting as the doctor entered something into the computer. The sheets beneath John were wet and tacky, and his skin felt sticky with sweat. His muscles ached as if he’d just spent several hours at the gym. At the same time, he felt more at ease then he had in weeks, a bone-deep sense of satisfaction smoothing over his discomfort. As he shifted a little, both doctor and nurse turned toward the sound.

“Welcome back,” Dr. Clarke said. 

“How long was I out for?” John murmured, his voice unexpectedly hoarse. The nurse brought over a large, lidded plastic mug with a straw, and John drank eagerly. 

“Just ten minutes. You dozed off at the end of the final knot,” the doctor explained. “You went quite a bit longer than expected - six knots in total. It’s no wonder you’re exhausted.”

John gave a weak chuckle, blushing self-consciously. “Yeah, well. It’s been awhile, I suppose.” He finished the water, handing it back to the nurse and sighing as he pushed himself further upright. 

“You’re free to shower and leave as soon as you wish,” said Dr. Clarke. “Go home, eat, and get some rest. You’re going to need it. Your next appointment is in two weeks, but please call if you if you have questions before then. And John - congratulations.” She shook his hand before leaving the room along with the nurse. 

As soon as the door closed, John pulled back the sheet and looked at his stomach. It appeared almost the same — perhaps a bit more swollen, he thought to himself, but perhaps he was imagining things. He pressed a gentle hand to the soft skin, wondering just how full of life he was. He blew out a slow exhale, then climbed out of bed and headed to the shower.

— 

Sherlock was deep in his work when John arrived home, the detective’s fingers moving furiously across his laptop keyboard. He didn’t look up from the glowing screen, but his nose twitched, and John saw a small frown turn down the corner of his lip as he hung his jacket. 

“Yeah, I know. The Alpha scent really sticks to clothes,” John replied to the unspoken sentiment, taking his jacket back. “I’ll throw everything in the wash before I have another shower. I’ll still smell pregnant, not much to do about that, but it’ll be more tolerable.” He rubbed his middle, and found the sensation strangely appealing. Leaving his hand where it was, he headed towards the stairs. “Gonna sleep for the afternoon when I’m done with all that. If you can spare a moment, it would be nice to have supper on when I wake up.”

Sherlock didn’t make any move to show he’d heard John, but when the Omega woke up later that evening, he found a full meal waiting and Sherlock gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and kudos are appreciated.


End file.
